Brothers
by GreyShadeOfQuietMouseColour
Summary: "An' then I thought what we gotta do is start a gang of our own. With a gang you ain't 'fraid of nothin', you got friends behind ya, kinda like a family, y'know?"... - For Riff Appreciation Day 31.01.2016


Rain drums against the windows of Doc's candy store. Behind the counter Doc is rearranging boxes of sweets. Sat at the table in the corner is a boy of about twelve or thirteen, drinking soda and staring down at his hands. He seems lost in thought and barely notices anything around him. His cheek is bruised and his eye is beginning to swell shut. The knuckles on his left hand are split, blood oozing slowly down his bruised fingers. Doc wonders if he should maybe go and talk to the kid. He looks like he's been in a pretty nasty fight.

Vaguely Doc knows the boy, he lives just down the block with his uncle, an unpleasant man with a drinking problem. His name escapes the old man but, he has often noticed the kid hanging around street corners with his friend. They sometimes come into the store to buy soda.

The fact he knows the kid makes up Doc's mind for him. He puts down the candy he's holding and crosses the store to stand in front of the boy's table. "You ok, kid?", he asks, noticing the look of surprise that crosses the boy's face. He's clearly not used to adults taking an interest in his well-being.

The boy looks up and grins and Doc is reassured that everything is ok. It'll take more than just a few bruises to stop this kid. "Ain't nothin' wrong with me," he replies causally. His voice is slightly muffled by his split lip, but otherwise he sounds remarkable cheerful.

Shaking his head Doc withdraws back behind the counter. Kids are growing up so fast these day, he thinks as he dusts down his shelves. Sometimes he wonders if maybe a healthy dose of fear would be good for some of the kids in this neighbourhood. They act like they're indestructible and can do whatever they want and from experience Doc knows that life isn't always like that.

The particular boy in question takes a swig of his soda and props his ratty trainers on the chair opposite. He leans back on two chair legs and stares up at the ceiling, whistling to himself.

"Hey, Riff!" The door bangs open. A tall, skinny boy is framed in the doorway. His hair is plastered to his head and he is out of breath, as if he's been running.

"Tony!" The boy in the corner lets the legs of his chair bang back onto the floor and straightens up. "I gotta tell ya something." He sounds excited and his eyes are very bright as his friend pulls up a chair opposite him.

"You been fightin' again, Riff?", Tony asks, frowning at his friends bruises.

Riff waves away his concern. "Y'know I have, else ya wouldn't be askin'. Now listen up, I got an idea an' I wanna know what ya think."

Tony still looks concerned, but shrugs. "Ok, sure, what is it? I'm listenin'."

"Well, I been thinkin' 'bout all these fights an' how we don't get no respect from the other kids. An' then I remember that kid, used to live in the apartment 'cross from mine an' how he were in this gang, right, an' we was all kinda scared of him an' his friends. An' then I thought what we gotta do is start a gang of our own. With a gang you ain't 'fraid of nothin', you got friends behind ya, kinda like a family, y'know?" Riff stops and waits expectantly for Tony to say something.

Behind his counter Doc is listening to them. He thinks of all the gangs he's known in his time in the West Side, remembers the fights they started and the trouble they caused. Those gangs never ended well for the boys in them. They mostly ended up in prison or even dead. He wants to step in and warn these kids, but it's none of his business. They can do what they like and they will, whatever some old guy tells them. Doc shakes his head sadly.

Riff is drumming his fingers on the table impatiently as Tony considers. "Where we gonna find guys for a gang, Riff?", his friend ask eventually, "How we gonna get 'em to join?"

"We ask 'em! Ain't nothin' to worry 'bout. Come on, Tony, what d'ya say?"

For such a young kid, Doc thinks, this Riff is very persuasive. He knows what he wants and he's determined enough to get it. Without waiting for the answer Doc can see that Tony is going to agree. He wishes he could persuade him otherwise.

Grinning at his friend Tony holds out a hand and Riff grasps his arm. "Sure, sounds good to me." They smile excitedly at each other. "What ya gonna call this gang then?", Tony asks after a minute, "It's gotta have a name."

Satisfied with himself Riff leans back in his chair and folds his arms behind his head. "I was thinkin' 'bout that. What d'ya think of 'Jets'?"

"'S a cool name," Tony agrees, "but why 'Jets'?"

"Dunno. Ain't gotta have a reason." Riff shrugs and reaches for his soda again. "Just liked it, I guess." In a few gulps Riff downs the remaining soda and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. "Now, I got this guy I want ya to meet. Told him to wait for us at the park. You'll like him, cool as ice under pressure." Riff gets to his feet, rubbing the dried blood off his fingers, and Tony follows him to the door. "This kid were in the fight earlier. Man, ya shoulda seen him. Knocked this guy out cold..." Riff's voice is cut off as the door falls shut behind them.

Doc watches them as they walk away down the street, still talking animatedly. As they vanish from sight Doc can't help feeling worried for them. It's a dangerous world out there and being part of a gang brings all kinds of trouble with it. He hopes they will be safe and maybe change their minds. As Doc goes back to his work, he wonders if anything will ever come of their plans, if he'll ever hear anything about the Jets again. He sure hopes not.


End file.
